


Robot

by PyroKlepto



Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, F/M, I listed Carlton/Juliet as a ship but be known that it isn't really a ship in this first installment, Unrequited Love, it may never be, you'll understand when you read it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 13:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6471172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyroKlepto/pseuds/PyroKlepto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlton Lassiter is proud when people tell him he's like a robot. It means he's hiding his weaknesses well. But sometimes, it's difficult to make himself look so guarded - and yet even when he falters, somehow no one seems to notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Robot

**Author's Note:**

> I watched "Yang In 2D", and the ending ripped my heart out. (So did S6E1, but that's another matter for perhaps another installment in this story.)
> 
> So I had to write something. The expression on Lassiter's face... that wasn't just shock at discovering that Juliet and Shawn were in a relationship. There were far more layers of emotion to it, and this is my take on what some of those emotions might have been. I'll warn you right off - Shawn and Juliet are the canon couple here. Lassiter has feelings for Juliet but that... well, you can imagine how that's working out.
> 
> Warnings aside, enjoy, and please leave feedback if you have anything to say!

_“You’re like a robot.”_

Lassiter was proud of that. He was proud that everyone - from Buzz McNab, his coworker, to people on dating sites he had never even met in person - thought he seemed like a robot.

It meant he hid his weaknesses well.

When he descended the stairs - away from Buzz, away from the few people still milling around the department - he let his walls down a little. Slowing to a stop, Lassiter let his eyes drift along with his thoughts, staring into space and trying to steady his heartbeats.

Spencer and Guster had nearly died.

_Juliet had nearly died._

There had been far too many close calls today. And the amount of fear struck into Lassiter’s heart when Juliet told him to stay put, and gone into the house alone with Yang… it was more fear than he had felt in a long time.

Because all he could think of was that dark night. The Hitchcock film references. The kidnapping… the clock tower… how she had been mere heartbeats away from plummeting to her death…

To see her marching into a house with a crazy woman, to possibly confront the same psychopath who had nearly killed her…

Lassiter shut his eyes briefly, barely managing to suppress a shudder. He drew in a deep breath, glancing over his shoulder. No one had approached from behind while he lost himself in worries. Steeling himself, he walked the rest of the way down the stairs. He would immerse himself in paperwork for the rest of the day, or respond to any calls the police department recieved asking for aid - that would keep him from thinking too much.

Thinking overly much was a weakness too.

A policeman passed by and Lassiter cleared his throat. “Officer Hobbs. Has the paperwork left in Interrogation Room E been taken care of?”

The man shook his head. “No, Detective. I was just on my way to grab them.”

“Never mind. I’ll take care of it.” Lassiter waved a hand dismissively. “Go get some coffee and get ready for the day or something.” He strode away toward the interrogation room without a second glance at Hobbs.

The paperwork was still there; left by Lassiter earlier, actually. He had been in the middle of interrogating someone - a petty thief, nothing serious - when all of this had kicked off. Tucking the folder of files under his arm, he stood there for a long moment.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Be a robot. Throw yourself into your work, and go out for scotch and some whiskey later tonight.

He stepped outside again, making his way toward the stairs. He went to the desk and deposited the paperwork there; then something caught his eye. A bit of the evidence from the Yin case.

The stomach-churning sense of anxiety struck him again and he quickly went back downstairs. Clearly he needed a bit more time to compose himself… the concept infuriated him. He hated being this weak.

Maybe he should go find Juliet. He wouldn’t go all mushy and soft with her; he could just look for her, make sure she was alright. Surely that would sooth his frayed nerves.

She hadn’t been up at her desk; maybe she was in one of the conference rooms. He made his way back up the stairs with the intention of searching them, only to stop short when someone called out to him.

“Detective Lassiter!”

“Chief?” He turned to face her, back ramrod straight and his expression as composed as he could make it.

“I wanted to congratulate you. You did good work today. There was a lot of pressure, but you handled it in the right way, following protocol.” The chief gave him what was no doubt meant to be a warm smile; and it was, but it left Lassiter feeling more agitated than before.

What if his decision to follow protocol had led to someone’s death?

He forced a smile, nodding. “Thanks, Chief.”

She nodded in a way that said he was free to go, before turning back to the coffeemaker. Lassiter watched her turned back for a moment before swallowing hard and returning to searching the conference rooms.

Juliet was nowhere to be found, and that only caused his heart rate to spike yet again. He had seen her come back; surely nothing could have happened to her. Yin was dead, Yang had been imprisoned again…

Fingers curling in and out of a fist - a nervous habit he had not yet learnt to curb - Lassiter made his way downstairs again. He knew she wasn’t at the receptionist desk… from the conference room he had been in last, he had a view of the entire department and seen no sign of her. There were a few rooms downstairs he had left untouched; perhaps she had gone to find a quiet area to relax in. She had to be exhausted; nothing that had happened in the last two days could have been easy on her.

Not considering what she had been through.

He made his way to the jail cells, and found nothing. After that, he started searching each interrogation room, glancing through the windows at the interiors before moving on.

Just as he began to give up hope - and consequently become more frantic than concerned - Lassiter came to the second-to-last interrogation room. A glimpse of blonde hair and pale hands caught his eye, and he turned sharply to look into room through the two-way window.

He nearly walked inside - until he saw that she was not alone. Spencer was with her.

They were talking; but Lassiter couldn’t quite focus on the words - his eyes were on them, and the world’s sounds were drowned out by his heartbeat in his ears.

The two of them were holding hands, which shocked him enough - well, the fact Juliet showed no signs of drawing away did - but it only escalated from there. A kiss to the back of Juliet’s hand, then to her _lips_ …

“I’ll see you tonight.”

Lassiter couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away, not even when Spencer exited the room. He didn’t move - mainly because the exit was on an opposite side from him, and there was no chance of the self-proclaimed psychic coming across him - for several moments.

Two things were important to him and his life - stability and honesty.

And now it truly felt that both of those things were shattering in front of his eyes; like his world had started to crack and come apart at the seams, little by little.

Eyes flickering from Juliet - still inside the interrogation room - to the floor and then back again, Lassiter slowly backed away and walked in the direction of the stairs.

He didn’t pay much mind to his surroundings, walking past multiple policemen who asked questions that went unanswered; the next thing he knew, he was in his car and driving. He didn’t have a destination in mind. He just drove, his mind a blur.

He didn’t blame her. Not really. She deserved to be happy. She did. And if this made her happy, then he wasn’t one to stand in the way. Nothing had ever been between them. It wasn’t like Victoria. He had fought for her because they had once been in love, and he hadn’t wanted to lose that.

This wasn’t like that. This wasn’t… she didn’t have feelings for him. That was the long and short of it.

Bluntly put, she was in love with Spencer and that was that.

Normally being blunt was more Lassiter’s style. Somehow this time, it only gave him a tight feeling in his chest.

… why hadn’t she _told him_? Was he really such a difficult person that she couldn’t trust him - her own partner and (dare he think it to himself?) friend - with something like this? Sweet justice, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t told her about his failed dates. She had given him enough advice on them.

Then again, she had told him of some of hers as well. This was Spencer. This was different.

She had no obligation to tell him anything. He had to remember that. And he did, repeating it over and over again, eyes on the grey pavement rushing past beneath the tires of his car.

The invisible hand around his heart tightened more and more until he had to pull over to the side of the road, all but yanking the shifter into ‘park’ before letting his head fall forward onto the steering wheel.

He should have said something - taken the leap and just laid his stupid feelings out on the table. But no. He had been scared. He had remembered what had happened the last time he dated someone he worked with. And he had remained silent.

No, this was Lassiter’s fault. No one else’s.

Words of warning he had once given to Juliet came back to mind, unbidden: “ _All romance ends in despair. Or death, but mostly despair. Gut-wrenching despair … all people are essentially just out there to destroy any chance of happiness you will ever have._ ”

Way to follow your own advice, Lassiter. Though it’s not like it was ever a romance. Just one-sided feelings. It’s not like those were anything new.

They had just been annoyingly stronger this time. And they would fade, he told himself.

As for the last half…

Lassiter scoffed, finally lifting his head and gripping the wheel tight enough to make his knuckles go white. He shifted the gears and sped off down the street again, continuing to drive.

Spencer had always been good at destroying stability, peace, hard work, and…

He cut his thoughts off before he could mentally utter the word ‘happiness’.

 

He drove aimlessly, first to the next city over, and then back around to the beach. Eventually, the sky turned rose and gold, and the setting sun set the ocean to glimmering. And he returned to Santa Barbara, parking across the street from Tom Blair’s Pub and walking inside.

Lassiter sat down hard at a table in the back, ordering a scotch before staring down at the table. His stomach churned and growled, and he knew he ought to eat something - he hadn’t since supper the night before, nearly twenty four hours before. But the nauseous feeling wouldn’t allow him to.

He wasn’t even certain he could keep the liquor down. But it was either that or let the feelings take over his mind and keep him from being able to go in to work tomorrow. And that wouldn’t do. Regardless of who would be working there - such as Juliet - and regardless of how he felt, Carlton Lassiter was not going to miss another day of work.

Five scotches and an Irish whiskey later, the thoughts had dulled from a whirlstorm to a fierce buzz. Lassiter had long since ended up slumped against the edge of the table, propped up with his elbows, his glass between his hands.

And he couldn’t stop asking what had gone wrong - what he had done wrong. The only two times he had allowed himself to fall in love, it had ended badly.

_Shut up. Love is worthless and the last thing you need is that sort of thing weighing you down. You're no sap, Lassiter, get a grip._

He shook his head, blinking, and ordered another drink. He focused what little energy he had left into building up walls - mental walls, emotional walls, walls to keep all the unnecessary feelings out. Walls that would guard him, that would keep the hurt out.

It had just arrived when a voice broke through his haze of thoughts. “… Lassie?”

Oh. Oh, no. As if he hadn’t done enough.

Lassiter didn’t look up. “Spencer, back off.”

“You don’t look too good. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair this messy. What’s wrong, man? Jules says you weren’t at work all day. We figured you were at home asleep or something.”

“I said _back off_ ,” Lassiter hissed through clenched teeth. The words Spencer had spoken to Juliet, earlier in the interrogation room, kept ringing through his head. His fingers tightened around the glass between his hands.

“Dude, calm down. You’re high strung. Like… a kite, or something.” The self-proclaimed psychic reached out to touch Lassiter’s shoulder.

He saw it from the corner of his eye, and lashed out with one hand, knocking Spencer’s arm away. Whiskey sloshed over the rim of the glass, splashing to the floor. Taken aback, the psychic stumbled a few feet away.

There was so much Lassiter wanted to do - such as punch the younger man in the jaw - and so much he wanted to say.

_“Why do you hate me so much that you try to ruin what few shards of happiness I manage to find?”_

_“What did I do wrong, and what did you do right?”_

_“Treat her right, or I swear to god, I’ll not just want to put a bullet through your head - I really will.”_

Instead, he said nothing, slamming the glass down on the table and feeling eyes burning into him from all sides of the pub. He met each pair of them with a silent glare, until no one dared lift their gazes to him.

Without paying for his last drink, Lassiter snatched up his suit jacket and moved toward the front with clipped steps. He wrenched the door open and strode out into the night air, and kept walking until he reached his car. He climbed into the front seat and drove away, pulling out of his parking spot more quickly than was technically legal. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Nor could he bring himself to care that his vision had blurred considerably from the amount of liquor he had ingested.

Words from that morning whispered through his head again, eliciting a short, wry laugh that sounded half like an actual laugh and half like the beginnings of a sob.

_“You’re like a robot.”_

God. If only.

If only…


End file.
